One Hundred Situations
by Britani Gael
Summary: Collection of one shots written for a challenge community. One hundred situations, and the claim is the entire series. Wish me luck. [Current prompt: Announce]
1. Kiss: Dante, Lady

_Because I am something of a masochist, I've signed up for the 100situations livejournal community with the claim Devil May Cry, general series, and this is where I'll be posting the fics. I've technically not been approved yet, and likely won't be for a while, but I liked how this one turned out so much that I couldn't help but post it early. I guess if it's against the rules I can just write another one… _

**Title**: Missed You  
**Author**: Britani Gael (sterlingsylver at lj)  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Theme**: #40; Kiss  
**Characters**: Dante, Lady  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 605  
**Author's Notes**: Fluff! Of the romantic nature! I have apparently gone mad.

---

The first time she let him kiss her, he was smug.

Not just smug. Dante had been so damn cocky she'd wanted to take his head off, and enduring a solid week of comments and laughs and leering glances made it easy to conclude that it'd been a mistake. It was just – he'd done so much for her, and she knew her rejection in Temen-Ni-Gru must have hurt.

Now she knew he'd deserved it.

It was after that week that he'd dropped the act, confused. Surely he thought he'd be getting _something_ by now, and instead Lady had made sure to keep about fifteen feet between them whenever they were working, fighting, or even just talking. So he toned it down, he said he was kind of sorry, he offered her the use of some of his contacts and some work, and when he kissed her again he wasn't nearly so much of a jerk about it.

At first.

"Oh, yeah, I knew it," he'd crowed. "You've _so_ got the hots for me, you know it, you just can't stay away—"

"Yeah?" she'd replied. "Try me."

She didn't talk to him for nearly an entire month. She ignored his phone calls, she refused any jobs that required a partner – because she knew, with her luck, it'd end up being him. She hadn't even gone near the shop. She'd easily managed to cut Dante out of her life completely.

And she discovered that she missed him.

Not a _lot_. But a little. It was understandable, she had thrown away everyone and everything from her old life, right down to her name; he was the only one left who knew anything about her. The only one who cared. Oh, and he could be funny, he could be kind, and she couldn't hate him no matter what she told herself. Even if he was an asshole.

She'd gone back to Devil May Cry, half-hoping he would be out on assignment, but of course he wasn't. She swallowed her pride and walked right in, and the first thing she'd said was, "Dante, don't you dare say anything."

He hadn't looked nearly surprised enough. "Wouldn't dream of it, babe."

So she'd waited.

"Okay," Dante had admitted. "I was just going to say something about how I knew you'd be back, I know I'm hot, I know you love me, et cetera, et cetera."

"That's what I thought."

"But that would make me kind of a dick, wouldn't it?"

She was about to agree with him, wholeheartedly, when he caught her by the wrists, pulled her toward him and kissed her for the third time. Completely without warning and definitely without permission, and she was tempted to push him off or clock him. Would he even notice? He was so much stronger than her, though she wouldn't know it by the way he was still holding her hands.

He'd let her go after just a minute, stepped back and crossed his arms. Studying her. What a jerk. She called him several obscenities, the worst ones she could think of, but he'd shrugged them off. He'd heard worse. He was worse.

"You know," he'd said. "You don't have to kiss me _back_."

She felt her face twist up in anger and her cheeks get red. This was what she'd come here for? Screw him. And just when she was about to storm out – not for a week, or a month, this time for good – he'd tilted his head and he didn't smirk or scoff, he had genuinely smiled.

"What?" she'd demanded.

"Ah, nothing," he'd said. And then he grinned. "Missed you."

---


	2. Hell: Vergil

**Title**: Personal Hell  
**Author**: Britani Gael (sterlingsylver at lj)  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Theme**: #36; Hell  
**Characters**: Vergil  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 245  
**Author's Notes**: I like this one less than the one before. Ah, well, I have ninety-eight to go, I've got plenty of time to nail Vergil better.

Thanks Hester, Bustahead, Devil Sunday, and Sylla for the reviews!

---

He thought he'd been defeated by Dante. He'd been wrong.

Defeat felt like _this_.

Defeat felt like having all the bones in both legs shattered, it felt like rivers of blood rushing out between his lips, it felt like the crushing terror of knowing he was fighting an enemy he could not beat.

It felt like having the Yamato pried from his fingers.

It felt like death without dying.

The battle had long ceased, and he was still fighting. He was fighting to breathe and fighting to live – without his demonic blood he'd be dead so many times already, and for the first time in his life his curse was doing him no favors. He'd been in this place for hours, weeks, days, minutes?

This was his father's home.

He did not belong.

He was too weak to survive.

And it wasn't his blood, it was his damnable pride that was never going to let him die.

"When are…" It hurt to talk, it was agony dragging words through his ruined throat. "When are you going to… Kill me…"

He wondered if he was still conscious. He didn't know, he couldn't see, he couldn't tell. But even when he wasn't awake, even with his ears torn off and left to grow again, even with his brain numbed from the torture, he could still hear the response.

Maybe it was only in his mind.

—_When you beg me to._

Because he'd known it, already, anyway.

---


	3. Argue: Dante, Lady

**Title**: Shots  
**Author**: Britani Gael (sterlingsylver at lj)  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Theme**: #79; Argue  
**Characters**: Dante, Lady  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 500  
**Author's Notes**: Planning on continuing this later, in another one-shot. For now, I think it stands on its own.

Larnya6 – Thanks for the review!

---

"Is this some kinda joke?"

Dante leaned on the bar, peering over Lady's shoulder. She was staring down ten shots of vodka, poured into tiny glasses and lined up across the bar. The eleventh glass was empty, tipped over in front of her.

She glared at him, but didn't answer.

"Do you even drink?"

"Leave me alone," she snapped.

"Jeez, just sayin'. Do whatever you want." He signaled the bartender, a young fellow with tattoos and a ponytail who took his sweet time dragging his ass over there. "Hey, barkeep, can I get another?"

"No prob," the bartender answered, setting Dante's vodka down in front of him. He gave Lady a pointed look, and she slowly nodded.

The bartender sighed heavily, and added another drink to her row. "Whatever you want, lady," he said, moving back to the demanding girls back at the end of the bar. They kept breaking out into shrieks of laughter, and Dante kept forcing himself not to look – they'd been trying to get his attention for the last hour, and he was hoping that if he pretended he hadn't noticed, someone would resort to flashing him.

Or crawling into his lap.

Or asking him for a ride home. Hers, preferably. His was a mess.

It'd be nice if he didn't have to _work_ at this for once.

Lady downed another vodka, and choked on it.

He rolled his eyes. "You're really going to try and drink as much as me?" He looked back at her drinks. Had he really had twelve already? He wasn't even buzzed.

"Yes."

"_Why?_"

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed another one back. She seemed to be getting the hang of this, actually. At this rate she'd probably get through another, what, seven? And then she'd be passed out, and, later, pissed off.

"Barkeep, 'nother one over here," he said, and Barkeep dropped off two more vodkas. One for him, and one for Lady.

"Y'know," Dante drawled. "You try and drink me under the table, you'll end up dead. And not just 'cause you're a chick."

"Fuck you."

"_What?_ What did I do? How come I can't get an answer more than two words out of you?" He downed his drink, and slammed the shot glass down on the bar.

She did the same. "If you're so worried," she said, "stop ordering drinks."

"Hey, hold on, I'm not—You know? I don't even care anymore." He swiped a drink from in front of her and downed that, too. "Hey, barkeep," he called, pointing at Lady. "She's gonna need two more."

So what if she'd asked him to stop drinking. About five times. She'd also said something about leading those girls on, she'd complained about him being, what, obnoxious? Lady seriously needed to lighten up. Maybe booze would do the trick.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered to the other end of the bar. And, man, were those chicks happy to see him.

---


	4. Memorable: Dante, OC

**Title**: Last Date  
**Author**: Britani Gael  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Theme**: #51; Memorable  
**Characters**: Dante, OC  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 959  
**Author's Notes**: This is too long and focuses too much on the throwaway character I invented for the scene. I was trying to get Dante to talk about the girls in his life, and… I like parts, but I don't like it.

I'll try and not use Dante, next time. I've done him a lot.

---

He never dated for a significant length of time, but he'd called her back six times already; every time she'd solemnly agreed to his plans and then giddily gotten read for dinner like a high school girl. Hair, make-up, dress, perfume. After the dinner he'd take her for a ride on his motorcycle and there'd be sex and she would wake up without him. But it was the dinner conversations she looked forward to.

She knew he was only flattering her into bed, and she knew it wasn't going to last. But he could be so sweet.

That was why her heart lodged in her throat when he wouldn't look her in the eyes. He kept his gaze on his steak dinner and barely responded to her conversation, and wouldn't look at her at all.

Halfway through the meal, she couldn't take it anymore. "Tony," she started, just as he said, "Hey, listen."

She waited, and he filled the silence by drinking some of his beer. A lot of it, actually, and already the server was hurrying to bring over another mug. Tony always drank beer like it was water and he was dying of thirst, and never once had she even seen him sway. He drank of this next drink, too.

"Just say it," she said.

"I—"

"I love you," she said quickly.

She felt like a fool and knew she sounded like one, too. She wasn't telling the truth, not _really_. She loved looking at his face and how bright his blue eyes were and standing next to him made her feel warm and safe – she didn't love him. But she _could_.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "Don't," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you don't mean it," he said. He shifted in his red coat and looked at the door, but he stayed in his seat. Maybe he felt he owed her at least that much. "Because you'll die."

For a second she knew he meant it. She sat still, and then she tossed her head and laughed. "Wouldn't that make me special?" she said, joking right back. "Would I be the first woman to die for you?"

"No."

She'd been twirling spaghetti on her fork, now she set her silverware down. "Excuse me?"

"No, I said." He chugged the rest of his beer and shoved his plate of food back. "There's been three already, and that's enough for me. Listen, it's been fun and all, but—"

"Please," she said. She felt tears pricking his eyes, and knew she had no right. How many men had she used just like he'd used her? She'd known this would happen all along. She just wanted to hold onto him for just a little while longer. "Three?" she asked. "Three women died for you?"

"Don't—"

"Please," she said.

He sighed heavily, then leaned back in his seat and ordered a scotch. "Forget I said anything," he said, once the server left. "You're a great lay and I'm sure you're a nice girl, but I just don't want to see you anymore, all right?"

That hurt. "Is that what you tell all the girls, Tony?" she asked, bitterly.

"Yeah, pretty much."

She felt her shoulders sink a little bit, and she looked down at her dinner, her vision swimming.

"Aw, hell," he said, his voice softer. "I didn't mean it like that."

Yes, he did.

"You don't want to hear it," he said.

"Yes, I do," she said, quietly.

"It's not you, it's—"

"You." She knew that. "I just want to know why—"

"One of them," he interrupted loudly. He took an uneasy breath, and at first she thought he wasn't going to continue. "One of them I fucking wanted to marry. She was smart and strong and I shot her by mistake." He took a drink. "Not my fault. We were fighting an enemy that used tricks we'd never even heard of—shadows and clones and… and anyway, that's what she said. 'Not your fault, Dante. Don't blame yourself.'"

She didn't want to listen, she didn't want to hear him talk about the other women, the great tragedies of his life. But something in his voice had changed—instead of him acting like a jerk or acting like a nice guy or _acting_—he was really talking. He needed to say this, and not for her.

"My best friend," he continued. "She got between me and a monster. A huge son of a bitch, and I know she did it on purpose. 'Thanks for everything, Dante,' she said, and that's right before it ripped her apart. Bought me enough time to…" He finished his scotch. "Guess it doesn't really matter, does it? She's dead, too."

She felt numb, and she knew he wasn't lying. "You said your name was Tony," she said.

"Yeah? I lied." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out three twenties, tossed them onto the table and stood up. "I'm sorry," he said. "About everything."

She stood, too. "Wait," she said. "The last woman. You didn't say anything about her."

He looked at her for a long time. "No one remembers them," he said, and she wondered if he'd even heard her question. "No one remembers their names but me."

"What were they?"

"Their names?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Mary. Beatrice." He took a deep breath. "And Eva. Eva was my mother."

She nodded again. "Now I remember them, too."

He left.

He strode out the door with purpose and he wasn't coming back. Dante, that'd been his name, his real name. She sank back into her seat, staring at the door. "Mary, Beatrice, Eva," she said under her breath.

Her spaghetti was cold.

"Mary, Beatrice, Eva…"

---


	5. Motivated: Vergil, Dante

**Title**: Motivated  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Characters**: Vergil, Dante  
**Prompt**: #29; Motivated  
**Word Count**: 669  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: Vergil and Dante battle it out in Hell, and neither can take it completely seriously.  
**Author's Notes**: I love Vergil's little lines of gameplay dialogue – they're as corny as anything Dante ever says. Also, whenever I fight the bastard, my brother is always watching over my shoulder – "Stop shooting at him!" he says. "Why are you shooting at him! It just gives him an opening to attack! Look, he's attacking you!"

I kind of suck at the actual game, alas.

Thanks, LadyTigerFuyuko! Glad you liked Memorable better than I did.

---

The problem with Dante was that he never learned.

He was fighting this third fight just as he had their first, just with more desperation and less strength. This ordeal had taken a lot out of both of them, and the aura of the demonic realm wasn't helping.

Dante swung his sword across his body, in a move obviously designed to take off Vergil's head – that is, if Vergil were a practice dummy, ready to stand there and take it. Pity that he wasn't.

He deflected the attack with the Force Edge. The blade wasn't as easy to manipulate as the Yamato, its weight and shape were different enough that he had to adjust his style. It cost him slightly, but he wasn't worried.

Dante swung again, again Vergil blocked, and this time unleashed a series of slashes himself, knocking Rebellion back and delivering several brutal cuts to his brother's chest and torso. Not enough to kill him, not nearly, but enough to slow him down. More than enough to sting.

Fury written all over his face, Dante pulled his twin guns and started firing blindly.

Vergil caught the bullets easily with a spin of his sword, and sent them flying back.

Dante took six shots to the chest, and crashed to the ground.

With a heavy sigh, Vergil flicked the blood of the Force Edge, eyeing his pathetic heap of a brother with disdain. "Dante, must you fall into the same traps over and over again?"

"Shut… the fuck up." Dante shakily got back to his feet, blood pouring down his chest, though the bullet holes were already gone. Rebellion was resting across his shoulders, and he was breathing hard. "Anyone coulda pulled a cheap trick like that."

Vergil slowly walked a circle around his brother. "Then you would imagine anyone could have seen it coming."

"You know, I'm going to take that sword from you and shove it straight up your ass."

"Hmm," Vergil replied.

"'Course, you'll have to make room for the _stick_ you've already got shoved up there."

"Dante, you—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. _I'm going down_."

Vergil forced his face blank, though the grin he was suppressing made his lips twitch. Dante misread his expression – no surprise there, since Dante misread just about everything – and swung Rebellion up into a defensive position, ready to block a blow that wasn't actually coming.

Well, Vergil hated to disappoint.

He took a hard step right and brought the Force Edge down, the metal of both blades singing as they fell into that familiar deadlock. Normally, this is where they would exchange witty words and scathing insults.

Dante didn't appear to be in the mood. He shoved Vergil off and spun, somehow sheathing Rebellion and drawing both his guns in the process.

His brother wasn't one to miss but Vergil wasn't easy to hit; he rolled and came up with the Force Edge spinning, ready to deflect the next hail of bullets.

Dante wasn't there anymore.

Vergil spun around – not fast enough, Dante was already standing behind him, his expression triumphant. A white gun barrel was directly in front of Vergil's face, nearly pressed against his forehead.

Dante pulled the trigger.

Vergil's vision flashed white and red as he stumbled backwards, and he felt the dull pain of several more blows to his chest and arms – temporarily blinded by the pain, he fell onto his back.

"God_damn_ it, Dante," Vergil swore, sitting up and spitting blood. And the brat couldn't see why he couldn't stand those weapons? Of all the cheap shot things he could do—

"What," Dante said, smirking. "Didn't see that coming?"

So maybe his baby brother _was_ learning.

This might be fun after all.

Vergil got back to his feet, twirling the Force Edge menacingly in front of him. This time he didn't stop the smile that was spreading across his face. Oh, he was going to grind that cocky face into the ground. "_Now_ I'm motivated."

Dante grinned right back. "'Bout time, bro."

---


	6. A Sizzling Good Time: Dante Lady Vergil

**Title**: A Sizzling Good Time  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Characters**: Dante, Vergil, Lady  
**Prompt**: #63; Self-Conscious  
**Word Count**: 733  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Summary**: So Dante, Vergil and Lady fighting demons together makes no sense in canon. I have written it anyway. I also am aware of how stupid it is. It still amuses me. Dante is so unloved…

---

Dante planned out the choreography before he decided to take this mother down, he had it all worked out in his head. The rain of sword slashes; the stunning back flip; the series of ducks and rolls, followed by an impressive display of firepower. This demon looked like a giant lizard with a freaky long tail, that was new. Should he make some wisecrack about Puff the Magic Dragon, or would that be too obvious?

Anyway, it was going _down_. No sweat.

He shot his partners a smug look, opened his mouth to be annoying, and then the beast _coated him in fire_.

"_Jesus fuck_!" he shouted, falling to the ground and writhing there.

The demon growled and charged, and Christ, his coat was melting into his flesh. His beautiful leather coat was dripping onto his perfectly chiseled abs, and that was an entirely new kind of pain. Stop, drop, and roll, right? _Right?_

Vergil and Lady were staring at him like he'd grown another head. Also, the dragon was raising its clawed foot, in order to smash all the life and all the guts out of Dante, who at that moment felt his eyelashes suddenly ignite.

"Mother_fucker_!" he yelled, clutching at his face and watching this horrible scene through his fingers. "Kill it! Why aren't you two bitches killing it?"

They gave each other a puzzled glance, and then the dragon's foot came off at the joint.

It was such a clean cut that Dante didn't need to see the bastard do it to know he had. Vergil sheathed his sword, and then jumped out of the way just in time for the demon to disappear in an explosion. He jumped back into the cloud before the dust settled, and Dante could hear the wet sounds of Yamato slashing the thing to bits.

When the smoke cleared, there wasn't much left.

Meanwhile, Dante was still on fire. The screaming agony was numbed by the complete fucking retardedness of this situation, having to smother the flames with his hands while Vergil and Lady kept looking at him.

"What the hell were you _doing_, just standing there?" Vergil demanded. "You couldn't have looked more the fool if you were trying."

Lady came to a stop right at his feet. "And what are you doing now?"

He was feeling to make sure he still had a face, now that he'd beaten the fires on his skin to death. His eyebrows had been vaporized. At least the hair on his head was mostly still there, because he didn't think he could go through life as a bald man.

Vergil shoved his hair out of his face and crossed his arms. "Great. Now he's going to sulk."

"Am not," Dante snapped, out of habit. He peeled a strip of red leather off his forearm, and flinched. "Damn it!"

"See?"

"Can it, both of you." Lady swung Kalina Ann over her shoulder and glared at them. "We still have half a creepy castle to explore and about a hundred more demons to vanquish."

"Very well," Vergil said, nodding.

The skin was growing back on his chest and arms, but Dante was hardly happy. He wondered if he should mention the fact that he was nearly naked – his coat was destroyed and his pants had barely survived, hanging in singed patched around his legs.

He decided that he better. "Hey, I think I'm suffering from a fashion emergency," he said, getting to his feet and gesturing down at himself.

Lady shrugged. "I thought you dressed that way on purpose," she said, before shoving her machine gun into her belt and stalking off to the doorway, no doubt looking to torture innocent devils that didn't happen to be him.

Feeling completely pathetic in his lack of outfit and mostly hairless state, he shot Vergil a pleading look. "C'mon, dude, you can't help me out?" He had a coat he could totally let Dante use, if he had a soul.

Vergil met his gaze steadily. Then, "You look like an idiot without your eyebrows." And he walked off after the lady.

"I hate you both," Dante muttered, bending down to pick up the strips of leather he'd pulled off his skin. He was going to have to tie his pants together. He hoped the two of them were fucking happy, because he was never going to stop complaining about this. _Never_.

---


	7. Small Sacrifices: Vergil, Arkham, Lady

**Title**: Small Sacrifices  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Characters**: Vergil, Lady, Arkham  
**Prompt**: #22; Spatter  
**Word Count**: 872  
**Rating**: R  
**Summary**: Vergil and Arkham are partners, and yet, their mutual dislike runs deep.  
**Author's Notes**: Requested by my sister. I think she wanted something funny. She, um, didn't get it. This is based on the manga, and if Code:3 ever comes out, will probably be completely contradicted.

Thank you, tenshiamanda1987, and good luck to you on your challenge, Bustahead!

---

"…I've done it."

The small windowless room was coated in blood; from the ceiling to the floor there wasn't a square foot of wall that was unmarred, not a patch of ground that wasn't spattered with fluids and painted with morbid runes.

There must have been several victims – no one human could have produced that much blood, and there were too many body parts. Fingers and toes were scattered around like flower petals, eyeballs of assorted colors were strung up by the cord of nerves from the ceiling. Five, six people.

A circle of candles surrounded the star of this show, a female human corpse. She was naked from the waist up, dressed in only a long white skirt streaked with crimson, yet there was nothing pornographic about her. Indeed, the director of this scene had traded one kind of obscenity for another: the flesh of her torso was all but removed and her heart had been carved out.

It was impressive for an old man. Really.

Vergil found it distasteful.

He stood in a corner, away from the grime and careful to keep his boots out of the muck. He'd seen more than his share of butchered bodies, and he knew more than most what some of the rituals of the Underworld entailed. He still didn't understand why he was required to indulge Arkham in his sick hobbies. "Are you quite finished?"

Arkham's hands were coated in a layer of blood so thick he appeared to be wearing gloves. Human bits were clumped on his chest, and the splatters of blood around his eyes made him look even more deranged than normal. "Vergil," he said. "I have only begun."

Vergil waited for the monologue. When it didn't come he scowled. "Are you planning on making me beg for the story, old man? I honestly don't care what it is you've done here."

Arkham's eyes glittered, they almost looked like they were glowing. "I have gained power like no man ever has before."

"I'll bet." Because the man was willing to sink to depths of depravity previously unexplored by humankind, most likely.

"You don't understand."

"Considering that you refuse to speak to me in anything but the most cryptic of sentences," Vergil said, "then I would have to agree. I have no idea what is it you're talking about." His patience was running out, and the smell was getting to him.

"I have become a _monster_."

He said it with such pride. Such unrestrained ego, such obvious pleasure in the carnage he had created.

Vergil snorted. "I see no difference."

Arkham's eyes flashed furiously, and this time there was no doubt. They were glowing. Perhaps he had gained some powers, after all, and Vergil half-hoped the old man would think to test them on him.

But the anger faded with his eyes. "Of course," Arkham said, his voice as oily as ever. "I am nothing compared to a son of Sparda, now, am I?"

Vergil could almost hear the words on Arkham's lips: _Not yet._

The day Vergil no longer needed him could not come soon enough.

"Father? Father, where are you? I can't find Mother anywhere…"

It was a girl's voice, lower than Alice's, and coming from the hall outside. Light footsteps were coming closer, and the intrusion stopped the conversation cold.

Vergil expected Arkham to panic, but the man hardly seemed to notice. He started wiping his hands on a handkerchief, and didn't blink when the door swung open.

As the voice suggested, it was a girl, about sixteen years old and dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl. "Father, I'm looking for—" She broke off in a strangled yell.

"Mary," Arkham said, mildly. "I'm working now, be a good girl and wait outside."

Vergil had never laid eyes on the girl, but her identity was painfully obvious, with her strangely colored eyes. The shock was settling in, her hands were shaking and her eyes were glazing, her gaze fixed on the body in the center of the room. Her mouth moved without sound.

"Mary," Arkham said, "I told you to wait outside."

Vergil could read the word on Mary's lips, though he didn't really need to. He'd suspected as much, already.

_Mo… Mo… Mother…_

"Arkham," Vergil snapped. "Clean up this mess." He wasn't talking about the body, he was talking about the _girl_.

Her head snapped up at his voice, her eyes met his. And still, he got the distinct feeling that she wasn't really seeing him.

She turned on her heel and ran.

Arkham finished wiping his hands and placed the handkerchief back in his pocket, despite the fact that it was dripping with blood. "That's not important," he said. "Come, we have work to do."

Vergil ground his teeth at the order, but he followed. He needed Arkham, he needed to know how to open the seals, he needed Arkham to lead him to Temen-Ni-Gru. He needed Arkham in order to regain his father's power.

Vergil paused at the door, and gave the corpse one last look. One more victim to the pursuit of power.

One more human woman fallen victim to a demon.

No, the day Vergil was free to kill Arkham could not come soon enough.

---


	8. Stab: Dante, Vergil

**Title**: Blood Brothers  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Characters**: Vergil, Dante  
**Prompt**: #87; Stab  
**Word Count**: 1111  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: A childhood fight turns ugly.  
**Author's Notes**: Requested by my brother.

---

"Give that to me."

Dante looked up from what he was doing, surprised because only an hour ago Vergil swore that he was never going to talk to Dante again. It was the one promise Vergil never kept, but usually he kept it for longer.

Dante twisted in his seat until his back was to his brother and went back to his work. _He_ hadn't forgotten their argument – well, maybe he'd forgotten what it'd been about, but he definitely remembered the sucker punch to the nose. "Go away, Vergil."

"That's mine, give it to me!"

"It's not."

"It _is_."

"It's not."

"Dante, I _said_—"

"It's just a stupid toy, Vergil," Dante said, turning back around and waving the pocket knife in Vergil's face. Vergil's eyes followed it like he was hungry and it was food or something, so Dante snatched it back before he tried to grab it. He was _trying_ to carve a snowman out of wood, but if Vergil didn't _quit it_ he was never going to get it done. "You only want it because I have it now."

"I had it _first_."

"Why would _you_ have it?" Dante snapped. He'd wanted a real weapon and he'd asked for one for Christmas, and he'd gotten this instead. He'd tried not to act disappointed but Vergil could tell anyway, and had made fun of him for weeks.

Vergil shut his mouth and glared.

"I'm trying to make something for Mom," Dante said.

Vergil's eye twitched.

That was usually a good sign that he was about to _freak out_, which usually scared the crap out of everyone that wasn't Dante and Mom, because when Vergil freaked out he acted like he wanted you dead. Those times could be fun since he was so easy to mess with, he couldn't control himself at all, but they'd already had a fight and Dante didn't feel like dealing with him anymore.

So he turned away again. "I said go away, Vergil."

"_Dante_…" Vergil said, his voice low and threatening. He hated being ignored.

Dante did not care. "I'm gonna tell Mom—"

Vergil tackled him out of his seat.

They hit the ground with Vergil on top, which meant Dante was the one who landed hard on the wood floor. "What the hell!" he yelled, trying to push Vergil away with his feet, but his brother had grabbed the hand with the pocket knife and was twisting so Dante would have to let go.

He refused, even though it was hurting his wrist a lot. "Stop it, Vergil!"

"Let go!"

"You're being—" Dante caught an elbow in the chin, which distracted him enough that his fingers almost slipped off the knife. But not quite, and he shifted his feet on the ground to get a better position. _No way_ was Vergil getting it. "You're being freaking psycho!"

"Give it back!"

"No!" He moved his feet again, and then he shoved off the ground, rolling them both over so he was on top and Vergil was on the ground and he could punch his stupid face in. And then his fingers slipped off the knife.

He could tell what happened because Vergil's face went completely blank.

Dante scrambled backwards, he got of Vergil as quick as he could and sat back, so he could see the handle of the pocket knife standing straight up, sticking out of Vergil's stomach.

He stared.

Vergil groaned, his eyes were squeezed shut. "You're so…" He was reaching for the knife, and his fingers closed around the handle. "_…retarded_."

"Don't—" He grabbed Vergil's hands but couldn't stop him from pulling the knife _out_, and the blood ran over both of their fingers. It was warm, and it was creepy that it was almost soothing – but Dante knew that warm meant you were alive, and cold meant you were dead. "Don't die, I'll go get Mom and she'll—"

Vergil shoved him off. "Stupid," he sneered. "I'm not going to _die_."

Even though he'd just been _stabbed to death_ he really didn't look like he was going to die, he just looked annoyed. Dante was still pretty sure he should still run and find Mom, though, because he still could die anyway. And maybe he was just some kind of freak that could never die. In that case Dante should still get Mom, because he'd just _stabbed_ Vergil, and didn't want to see what freak Vergil could do to him in revenge.

But, if Vergil was some kind of freak like that, wasn't Dante the same as him?

Dante sat back, and looked at him. "How?" he demanded.

Vergil rolled his eyes. "You don't know _anything_." He pulled up the edge of his shirt. Under the torn cloth, and all the blood, wasn't a bleeding hole or anything. Just smooth skin. Like he hadn't been hurt at all.

Dante looked back up at his face. "How did you know that…"

Vergil shrugged. "It happened before."

Vergil still had the knife in his hand, and it bothered Dante to realize that meant he'd _won_, the stupid jerk.

"Does it only work for you?" Dante asked.

"How can I know _that_?"

"Well, how am _I_ supposed to—"

Vergil was looking at him like he was the stupidest person alive, and then his hand snaked out and he grabbed Dante by the wrist. Dante realized what he was doing a second too late to anything about it, and he didn't do anything but stare as Vergil brought the knife down, and dragged it across the back of Dante's hand.

If there was any magic in him it wasn't working, because it was hurting a whole lot, and Dante jerked back. "What are you doing?" he shouted, holding his cut hand as blood started dripping on the ground. "You stupid _jerk_."

"Watch," Vergil ordered.

"Watch _what_?"

"Watch your hand," Vergil said, reaching out to point, but Dante flinched when he got near. He sighed and dropped his hand. "If you don't watch, you won't know."

Vergil was right, even if he was annoying, so Dante rubbed away some of the blood and watched his hand.

It stopped bleeding as he was looking, and he could see the two edges of his skin. It looked really gross. But then, as he watched, the two edges _reached_ together, like they were being sewed up by invisible thread that didn't hurt, In a few seconds the cut was gone, and when he rubbed the rest of the blood away the skin wasn't even red. There wasn't anything there at all.

He glanced up. Vergil's face said, _I told you_.

"Woah," Dante said, grinning. "Cool."

---


	9. Punch: Dante, Vergil

**Title**: Battle Scars  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry  
**Characters**: Vergil, Dante  
**Prompt**: #43; Punch  
**Word Count**: 1494  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Summary**: Young Dante is harassed by a mob, and Vergil comes to his rescue.

---

Vergil didn't need telepathy, or any sort of twin-sense to tell when his brother was in trouble. Usually, when Dante needed help, he could _hear_ it.

Dante was more than an hour late for dinner, and Vergil had been combing the streets of town looking for him for nearly that long. He knew when he got close, though, because he started hearing the trouble. Just around the corner, he could hear the rumblings of a crowd, a series of angry shouts.

He didn't doubt for a second that Dante was the cause of it.

"Fucking _freak_," came one voice, especially loud. And angry. There was a violence there Vergil wasn't expecting, so he paused before he turned the corner. His eye caught a rock about the size of his fist lying on the sidewalk, and he couched down and put it in his pocket.

"_Stop it_!"

The voice was clear and young, and so obviously Dante that Vergil's head snapped up at the sound of it. He scrambled to his feet just as Dante came around the corner, about fifteen, twenty people right on his heels.

The man at the head of the mob, a heavy-set fellow with a mean face, caught Dante by the arm. Dante shouted something unintelligible and jerked away, and crashed straight into Vergil.

Vergil managed to keep his balance, barely. Dante wasn't so lucky, scraping the cement with his face before Vergil dragged him roughly back on his feet.

There were tears in his brother's eyes, and blood on his shirt. Vergil could feel the mob behind him – he didn't want to turn and look – but he knew whatever was happening, it was _bad_.

"Dante," Vergil scolded. "Where did you—" And then he noticed the ugly mob. Really, he only pretended to just notice them, but they were still scary enough that he didn't need to fake his face. He spun around, keeping Dante at his back. "What are you people doing?" he demanded loudly.

Dante started to answer the question, so Vergil stomped down on his foot. The crowd shifted and started at him, calculating his intrusion.

"Kid," the man at the head of the pack growled, "outta the way."

Vergil shook his head.

The man crossed his arms and glared. "Let me guess," he said. "You're the big brother, here." He must have noticed that he and Dante looked exactly the same.

Vergil shrugged. It was true enough, especially now, with Dante huddling behind him like a coward. Dante wasn't usually a coward, though, even when he should be. Something was wrong.

"Listen, kid," the man said slowly. "You're gonna let me at your freak of a brother, or you're going to get hurt, too."

"I'm not a freak!"

Vergil had no idea why Dante suddenly felt the need to assert himself, but he knew he needed to put him down, _now_. "Shut up, Dante," he ordered as nastily as he could manage, with that sick pit in his stomach.

"Not a freak, right," a random person snapped. Vergil scanned the crowd, but couldn't find him. Not like it mattered.

"More like a God damned _monster_."

_Monster_ was echoed many times, and the crowd surged closer. It was like a single organism, a demon made up of lots of people. The leader, the one who'd grabbed at Dante, he was the closest. He was too close, and Vergil was starting to feel claustrophobic.

"He stole from my shop," the leader, said. "Kid needed to be taught a lesson."

"You're going to, what? Hit him?" Vergil asked, coldly.

"I _already_ hit him. I hit him and watched the bruise disappear right in front of my eyes."

Oh.

Dante's hands were on his arm, but he shook them off, thinking hard. Vergil knew what they were, he knew that they were exactly the kind of monsters these villagers were so afraid of – though they were far too ignorant to even know what they were dealing with.

He knew what he _should_ do. He should do exactly what their mother told him to do, which was let them do anything they wanted to Dante. Short of cutting off his head or cutting out his heart, they couldn't kill him. He would play dead and he would heal, and these people would never be the wiser.

That must have occurred to Dante, too. And still, Vergil could almost feel his brother's paralyzing terror. He wasn't scared of the pain, he was used to that. No, he was afraid of the hate. These people wanted to hurt him so bad you could taste it in the air.

And they might try and cut off his head. Vergil didn't know if he could stop them.

"You can't have him," he said. He wished he was older, that he had a lower voice. He knew that his threats carried no weight, here.

"He _stole_ from my _shop_, kid. Ain't no one gets away with that."

Vergil glanced over his shoulder.

Dante shook his head, and he didn't look anyone in the eye.

Vergil narrowed his eyes, and then turned back to the mob. "He says he didn't do it," he said, unenthusiastically. His eyes were scanning the crowd.

"And, well, he _did_," the man said with a sneer. Oh, he was right, Vergil was positive about that, but he didn't like the way the man was standing, trying to loom over the both of them. His middle was thick but so were both his arms.

He called Dante a freak, but to this man the two of them were just a pair of little boys. Victims to humiliate and hurt and maybe even kill.

Vergil started backing up, and he didn't need to send Dante a memo. Both boys picked up the pace, but the leader stepped ahead of the crowd, heading right toward them both with his hands curled into fists.

Dante tripped and fell down with a yelp, and Vergil was forced to stop and hold their ground. The man's grin widened, and he reached out to grab them.

Vergil wasn't an idiot. He had a rock in his fist. He'd had it the whole time.

As soon as the man got close enough – the very second – he swung his whole arm in a high arc and the rock connected right at the man's temple. The blood spray hit Vergil in the face and stung his eyes.

The man hit the ground with a heavy thunk. He fell _with his eyes wide open_.

Someone screamed.

Vergil stared down at the man as the crowd fled, shouting and scrambling to get by each other. He held out his hand without thinking and pulled Dante to his feet, and all the people made sure not to touch either of them as they fled.

In a second, no one was left but the man on the ground.

"Vergil?" Dante asked in a small voice. He was doing his best not to stare at the body but his eyes kept slipping.

"Why did you rob him," Vergil asked tonelessly.

Dante shrugged. "Mom doesn't like him, she said he said—"

"Why did you say you didn't."

He squirmed where he stood. "I thought if _you_ thought I did it, that you wouldn't—"

Vergil hit him in the face.

He hit him hard. He hit Dante so hard that his brother's eyes rolled back and he fell back down on his back, and blood ran over his cheeks and lips. The bleeding stopped after a second. So did the crying – Dante swallowed his sobs so fast that Vergil would have missed them if he'd wanted to.

"I hurt him because he hurt you," Vergil said. "But don't _ever_ lie to me again."

He let Dante get up. He was so mad he wanted to knock him down again and maybe again after that, but Dante looked so pathetic standing there, rubbing at his face with his sleeve. Blood on his shirt.

Body next to them.

"We're going home," Vergil announced, loudly. No one around to hear, the street was empty except for the dead man and Dante and him. He waited for his brother to start walking but neither of them did, instead they were staring at the corpse.

"I never saw someone dead before," Dante said quietly.

"Shut up."

"Vergil, you really—"

"I said shut up."

"He's dea—"

"_We're going home_." He grabbed Dante's shoulder and shoved him forward, and normally Dante fought against everything anyone tried to make him do, but today he just started walking.

They walked in silence almost all the way home, and both of them kept their eyes on the ground. Their house was in sight when Dante decided to break the silence, with, "I won't tell Mom."

Suddenly, Vergil's eyes started burning, and he wiped them on his sleeve. "Please," he said, and you couldn't tell from his voice that he was crying, "just shut up."

---


	10. Announce: Grue, Tony

**Title**: Payday  
**Fandom**: Devil May Cry (Novel)  
**Characters**: Grue, Tony Redgrave, Enzo Ferino  
**Prompt**: #04; Announce  
**Word Count**:  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: Novel-based; Grue and Tony Redgrave meet up for the first time.  
**Author's Notes**: I like the novel AU lots, anyway, so I'll likely be writing more for it… I like Tony.

---

He might have looked normal. Might have, but he didn't, not with the shock of silver hair you couldn't miss unless you squinted your eyes shut. Add to that the red leather coat he threw on day after day and the layers of ridiculous weaponry – it equaled more than a mess; Tony Redgrave was drowning in gaudy fashion, brimming with attitude, easy to spot a block away and a breeze to avoid if you weren't in the mood for him.

Grue was never in the mood.

So, when Enzo swaggered up to him in Bobby's Cellar one evening, with a once in a lifetime opportunity to make a boatload of cash, Grue didn't have to think long and hard about the offer. "No."

Enzo's jaw dropped. "You're not even going to think about it?"

"Nope."

"I'm talking about sixty thousand dollars, ya dumb lug. That's not the kind of money a man says no to."

"I'm not gonna work with the punk, Enzo."

Enzo slid into the seat new to him, which sent the message loud and clear – he had no plans of letting up. Grue scowled into his drink and did his best to ignore him, but with Enzo pestering him like this there wasn't a chance of anyone else approaching with an offer.

"Tony's real desperate for cash," Enzo said, after he ordered himself a beer. "I could probably talk him into splitting the pot sixty-forty."

"Not interested."

"Sixty-five—"

"No thanks."

"Listen, Grue, this job is done by two men or not at all. I can't get anyone else to—"

"This might be news to you, Enzo, but if you got Tony Redgrave on board that's a sure sign the job is just a step short of suicide." "I don't even know what you're offering and I know I want nothing to do with it."

The door crashed open behind them.

Grue didn't have to turn and look to know who it was – only one man in town was dumb enough to kick open the door to Bobby's Cellar and draw all that attention to himself. The bustle and conversation started up again in a few seconds, but that didn't drown out the sound of heavy footsteps.

Grue cringed when they came to a stop directly behind him.

"Yo, Enzo," a voice said, loudly. "Any luck on finding me a partner, yet?"

Grue turned around in his chair, and sure enough there was Tony Redgrave in his all his glory. He was dressed in his red leather and a pair of motorcycle boots, he had a machine gun strapped to his leg and a heavily modified pistol on his hand. New to Grue was the massive broadsword – maybe he'd just never gotten close enough to the kid to notice, though now he couldn't see how he could've missed it.

What was Tony planning on hunting?

He turned back to his drink and finished it, slammed the glass down on the bar. So tonight was a bust, fine. He could head home, maybe spend some time with his girls for once.

"C'mon, Enzo," Tony whined. "I'm counting on you!"

Enzo groaned. "I'm trying, Tony, give me a break." He took a long gulp of beer, and jerked his thumb in Grue's direction. "Tried for this guy, but says he not interested."

Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. "What's the old man got against me?" he asked.

Enzo shrugged. "Maybe he don't like the way you smell."

"And maybe you need to get bent," Tony snapped back, though his tone was still cheery and conversational. "Here I am, trying to make a decent living, and—"

"I don't have anything against you," Grue interrupted, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. "I don't know you, kid." He headed for the door.

The night air felt good – Grue spent too much of his life cooped up in that damn bar, waiting for something good to happen. Some magical offer that would change his life, a job and a paycheck that would solve all of his problems. Well, it wasn't gonna happen. There wasn't any magic in this world, and checks the size Enzo promised usually came at the cost of being dead.

He reached into his pocket for his Camels and a match.

"Hey, wait up!"

Heavy footsteps were thundering behind him, and Grue hoped for Tony's sake that the kid never found himself on the wrong side of a job that required stealth. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and didn't bother slowing down.

"C'mon, hold up." For all his complaining, Tony wasn't even out of breath when he pulled up beside Grue and matched the man's pace. "So," he said. "Why—"

"Like I told Enzo, I'm not interested." He dragged the match across the wall of the building as he walked by, and then he lit his cigarette. "Nothing personal, kid."

Tony waved the smoke away. "Jeez, you too? I know the job doesn't have a high life expectancy and all, but you'd think—"

"Kid, I got stuff to do." Before, calling Tony _kid_ had been a pretty blatant attempt to tell him to buzz off – now that he'd seen him up close it seemed all too appropriate. Tony was maybe eighteen, maybe even younger. Where on earth had he learned to fight like he had?

And he knew Tony could fight. You didn't come back from as many jobs as he had without being damn good. If Grue had been as good as Tony, back in the day, maybe he'd have quit the business while he was ahead.

Maybe he should have gotten out anyway.

"Oh. Well, I was just gonna tell you I _wasn't_ gonna take it personal." Tony shrugged. "I was trying to get out of it anyway, and if I don't have a partner I've got the perfect excuse."

So Tony _was_ a punk, and lazy, too. "Not risky enough?" Grue asked.

"Not enough money. I mean, for what they want me to do."

Grue couldn't even imagine what kind of job Enzo had been pushing that wasn't worth sixty thousand dollars – but then, knowing the man, he wasn't shocked, either. "Sometimes it pays to know your limits."

Tony looked at him at that, his face all at once still and serious. "I don't think I have any," he said, after a long silence.

Grue stopped walking and dropped his cigarette butt on the ground. "You're trying to tell me there's nothing you can't do?"

"Not so far."

Grue ground out the burning cigarette and said nothing.

Tony chuckled, too suddenly and too loud. "Nah, I'm kidding. Still haven't figured out how to date two chicks at the same time. Forget about it. How do they always know?" He was a terrible liar, but there was something about his flimsy façade that made Grue want to play along.

Because he felt sorry for the kid, he realized.

"Oh, what do you know about women?" Grue asked. "You're, what, fourteen?"

"Am not," Tony snapped back, with indignation that was fake, fake, fake. "I'm nineteen."

Grue snorted. "Same thing."

"Don't be jealous, old man. I'm sure there's still some girls that want some of that… somewhere."

"Don't get cocky, Tony," Grue said, pulled out another cigarette. "'Round here, it could get you killed."

"I thought it got me laid."

"Funny kid." Grue lit the cigarette and took a long drag, just trying to enjoy it. No luck, he hadn't enjoyed a smoke in years.

The banter had run out of steam, and now the silence between them stretched to nearly a minute.

"So," Tony said. "You're going home?"

"Yup."

Tony nodded. "Okay. I guess I'll see you around, then."

He took another drag. "Yup."

As quickly as he'd come, Tony turned and walked – probably back to Bobby's Cellar, or to whatever dump he called a home. Unless he slept on the streets. Kids like Tony usually did. They wandered from town to town, killing until they got killed, not planning on living long enough to even have to find a place to live.

This time, he hoped that wasn't the case.

Grue watched until Tony had disappeared, and then started home, in exactly the opposite direction.

---


End file.
